


want a boy with a smooth liquidization, want a boy with a good dividend

by harryslovechild



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: !!! seriously, Anal Sex, Best Friends to Lovers, Bottom Harry, Boys Kissing, Breathplay, Choking, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, Coming on Face, Confessing Feelings, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Dominant Louis, Feminization, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Grinding, Harry in Panties, Kinda, Little bit of angst, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Pining, Public Sex, Riding, Rimming, Snogging, Submissive Harry, Swallowing, Tongue Fucking, Top Louis, Underage - Freeform, Vibrators, blowjob, handjob, harry is fifteen years old yo, harry wears lipgloss, harry wears skirts, louis controls the remote, louis is eighteen years old, there's cum on harry's skirt, they fuck outside of school, wanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-29 19:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10860738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harryslovechild/pseuds/harryslovechild
Summary: “Why are you wearing lipstick?”Harry briefly closes his eyes calmly, biting his lip again. “'S my sister's gloss. I—just, sort of, like wearing it sometimes?” he says, as if it's a question that Louis has the answer to.“How did you even, like—”“Find out that I like putting it on my lips? Always have. Used to steal a bunch of her lipsticks and wear it when mum and Gems weren't home.”“That's…”“Dumb?” Harry almost sulks, forcing a laugh. “Weird? Girly?”“Nah, but girly would suit you. You could even wear a skirt and everything,” Louis teases, heart hammering in his chest. Harry's eyes simply widen as his cheeks flush, his mouth opening and closing like he can't believe Louis just said that.And it's so abrupt. Unexpected. But then Harry is breathing out an, “Already have.”or Harry likes wearing lipgloss and skirts but his best mate who wants to always kiss him has no idea. Louis catches him one night in the bathroom, asks him to wear one and Harry puts on a mini skirt for him. Things escalate dramatically.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from a random song i saw and i liked the lyrics so !! 
> 
> it is 7:30 am and i have been awake since 3:00am finishing this rip @ me
> 
> this is pure fiction. i don't own the boys, only the story. 
> 
> also, please DO NOT move this fic anywhere else (websites, tumblr, whatever) or copy it. i'm not comfortable with that. thanks.

Harry’s got his legs splayed out on the couch, Louis’ jeans dipping past his ankles and tickling at the rough skin of his heels, his hands—his huge, gigantic hands and okay, yeah, where did he get such huge hands? Louis would love to know—fumbling about in the bag of hard, sour candy he’s brought over for the night. He’s been insistent on reminding Louis about his strict candy limit (three candies: one blue, one green, one salmon, because Harry had insisted that the red and the purple were all his, of course) and obviously he deserves more than three candies—“C’mooon, let’s make that four, Harold,” he’d bargained, totally not whining in the least bit, because god does Louis hate odd numbers—and the corner of Harry’s mouth had just tilted up, pink lips twitching, but otherwise only patted Louis’ hand to show that, hey, it's okay, you'll live. 

God dammit, no, no he will not, okay? Once he’s got a taste for something, he’s gotta taste the thing completely—cravings like this do not just, like, go away. 

He settles back, eyes swooping to Harry’s ankles, maybe wants to run his thumb over his ankle bone a bit, or a lot which is unimportant, and then focuses back on the telly that’s flashing blue light against the wall and both boys faces.

He doesn’t really even realize that his eyes aren't on the telly anymore, not anywhere but on Harry after a few seconds of focused concentration (not at all) on Looney Toons—doesn’t notice it one bit, truthfully. Only notices the slight flare of Harry’s nostrils as he smirks into his sweater paws, hot pink hoodie dancing around his limbs like smooth flowing chocolate and the way Harry keeps popping candies in between his lips, rolling them around with his tongue, tongue occasionally dipping out to swipe at the stickiness of his lips before playing with them, forefinger and thumb pressed together. Louis doesn’t notice he’s staring, really, he doesn’t, or he would’ve looked away before Harry caught his eye. 

“What, Lou, ’ave I got that pretty of lips?” he says, running his tongue along the pads of his fingers, arms pliant by his sides and his thumb now in his mouth, lips closed around it while looking Louis straight in the eye and—and surely Harry has no idea what he’s doing to him.

“Cheeky, you are,” Louis laughs, gives Harry’s cheek a flick, then smiles a lot wider when he sees Harry’s nose twitch like a bunny, smile cute and small. 

His hands wrap around each other, the paws of his sweater permanently covering his left hand while his right digs through the sea blue candy bag. The fabric clenches underneath Harry’s tight fingers, his bum wiggling around in excitement when Bugs Bunny comes on screen. Louis thinks he’s the prettiest boy he’s ever seen, his pink and teeth-bitten lips, soft, emerald eyes and light curls forming around the shells of his ears all so pretty and so, so delicate. It makes Louis sort of want to cry. 

Prettiest boy I’ve ever wanted to kiss, Louis thinks, lip caught between his teeth—but then, no. No no no. 

I mean, yes, Louis’ thought about it. Thought about how it’d feel to have Harry’s arms wrapped around his neck, fingers twisting together, warm and clammy, Harry’s baggy hoodies bunching up under Louis’ hands on his tiny waist (the boy practically lives in them, the menace). Wonders whether the kisses would be gentle and chaste or hard and sloppy, if Louis’d be able to give it to him just the way he likes it and make him cry. 

Louis also kind of (really) wants to know whether kissing Harry would taste like that salt that he thinks needs to be added to his chips even when the chips themselves are enough to ruin your cholesterol, or like the fruit he brings to class in hidden plastic containers for him and Louis to share, or maybe just something altogether like his mint chocolate toothpaste. 

Fuck, what’s Harry taste like? 

And, just—shit. When Harry’s just laying in Louis’ bed, crookedly grinning at him with long eyelashes brushing against his cheeks like soft bristled paintbrushes on a white, pretty canvas, his lips will part sleepily and he looks so, so good. So beautiful. Louis wants to devour him and press kisses into his collarbones and on his neck and all over his face and keep him there, pretty and small and his. 

Okay? He's thought about it. Doesn't mean he wants it or craves it or, like, has a desire for his best mate. Load of rubbish, that. 

Louis looks into his lap. No, he can’t be—

“Hey, babe,” he says, looking up at Harry with a pout. Harry bristles at the pet name, a light blush being painted on his cheeks, so he looks back at the screen and away from Louis, but Louis knows he has his attention. “One more candy.”

Harry snorts, fidgeting again and possibly blushing harder, and then throws a candy Louis’ way. “Only because I know you’ll get all obsessive with me over the number three.”

The candy clearly hits Louis in the face, the nose, and Louis barely has enough time to prepare for the attack before Harry’s throwing another at him and—and no he didn’t. 

“How ‘bout a few more candies, boo?” Harry grins at him, the tip of his little pink tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, and shit, okay, Louis might actually have a bigger craving for his lips. 

Wait— 

No. 

Louis wants to slap himself, except Harry would see and that’d end in Harry glancing at him every damn second after that, all his attention on Louis out of worry, and no, he does not need Harry’s concern over him thinking... stupid thoughts.

Except, you know, everyone wants to snog Harry. Just maybe not as much as Louis wants to snog him incessantly, but. That’s not important. Everyone wants to snog Harry, he’s just so... pretty. 

And then Louis pops out of his thoughts, notes the way Harry’s eyebrows are like skylines on his forehead now (how he always raises them when he’s waiting and yeah, he’s waiting Louis, fucking answer him) and the way he’s tapping at the couch makes Louis’ vision blur temporarily. 

He blinks. ”Sure, right, just enough candies to rot your teeth,” Louis says, pants still feeling tight. Tight. His pants are tight, and Louis is achingly hard, over his best mate. Why does Harry have to be so bloody fit, with those little hands that Louis wants to hold and have in his hair, tugging while Louis wrecks him with kisses along his jawline, tongue playing with Harry's before he bites the younger boy's lip, pulls it and stares into his blown, black eyes? 

Or maybe. Maybe as he fucks into Harry's little mouth.

He can see it now, Harry gagging around his cock with tears in his eyes and flared nostrils as he tries to breathe and please Louis right. Harry's own cock pressed against his khakis, squeezing his thighs together and grinding to gain some well needed friction. He'd take Louis' cock to the back of his throat, bobbing his head while he hollows his cheeks and sucks on the head of Louis' cock with fucking passion. God, his lips were made to be wrapped around a dick—so plump, so pink and so kissable. Despite Louis' hard on, he still manages to want to kiss Harry while he softly brushes his thumb over the nape of the younger boy's chin and neck. 

Everything about Harry is so desirable. Harry, Harry, Harry. He can't get the boy's name out of his head, or off his tongue. 

And that's why he speaks without thinking, interrupting Harry's long rant about the telly and his hungry stomach rather than properly paying attention to the plot. Completely, absolutely oblivious to the thoughts parading around in his mate's brain. 

“Harry,” he says, mouth suddenly so, so dry. Said boy diverts his attention to him, eyes curiously watching him. “I—I think I'm gonna be sick.”

That's when Harry stops, his eyebrows furrowing with concern, a miniature but prominent frown settling on his lips. 

“Lou, love,” Harry comforts, tone gentle as he crawls over to the other boy. He climbs into Louis' lap and bites his lip worriedly as Louis groans a bit under his breath. "Is this hurting you? Making you feel sickly? I was just going to rub your belly."

The concern on Harry's face is enough to make Louis snort, but feel warm inside. Like an avalanche is happening inside of his heart, throwing a You're Falling Too Hard For Him But We Love It party with balloons and everything. 

Louis just tangles their hands together, watching as Harry's thighs nearly tremble and as his breath shakes. 

“No, this is nice.” He pauses, panic seeping in through his skin. No, not nice—at least Harry shouldn't know that he likes having him in his lap, thighs and long legs wrapped around his waist. Their crotches almost pressed against one another's, and Louis has no idea how Harry has not caught onto how turned on the older boy is, what with Louis' cock bulging through his tight jeans. “Or, rather, it's okay. It isn't hurting, no,” he stumbles, barely able to think about anything other than touching Harry. 

What does it feel like, having his fingers run through Harry's curls while they snog? Hands desperately searching for comfort and warmth by touching each other's bodies. He needs to know. Aches for it. 

But Harry is already getting off his lap. “'M gonna go get you a pill or two. For upset stomachs, of course. I'll be right back, Lou.”

And that is when Louis finally realizes that he is fucked. Screwed. Absolutely ruined. Because here he is, sat with a hard dick straining against his briefs and the tight, constricting material of his jeans from his best friend—his mate who he grew up with—and Harry is running off to get him a fucking pill. 

He feels sick because of that. And he realizes now that voicing that out loud would be entirely stupid. 

So he doesn't. He shouldn't have told Harry that he was feeling ill in the first place, anyway, but it isn't like turning back time is possible, and Harry has already come back with a clenched hand. 

The boy bites his lip nervously. He's worried about me, Louis thinks fondly. “Got some Tylenol. Says to take a couple, so yeah, got you two. Do you still want that belly rub?”

Louis barks out a laugh as Harry moves the bag of candy onto the coffee table beside the arm-rest of the couch. “Yes, of course, because belly rubs are quite the normal thing.”

Harry wrinkles his nose stubbornly. “Are so. Mum used to do it to me all of the time when I was sickly.”

“Exactly my point, young Harold, you still are getting belly rubs from your mother. Are you my mum now?” he teases, practically feeling the heat of Harry's pink cheeks against his hand as he flicks the younger boy's cheek. 

There's mumbling under Harry's breath, so Louis says, “What's that, babe?” and, if it's possible, Harry's eyes spark up a flame, burning with something unfamiliar, cheeks flushing darker this time. 

“I was just. Just wondering how you're feeling, is all,” he shrugs, averting his eyes to the cushion Louis is sitting on. “How did you randomly get ill, by the way?”

You, he thinks. 

Instead of saying that, he shrugs too. The panic in his chest is slowly subsiding, but he swallows the pills Harry had given him despite that. 

“Too much junk food, maybe.”

Nodding, Harry hesitantly leans over to scooch near the older boy. 

“You're lying,” he whispers. 

Yeah. Yeah I am. 

“Nah,” Louis tells him, opening his arms as an invitation to have Harry nuzzle his neck into Louis'. Harry does just that, his body pressed right up against the other boy's side, head tucked under Louis' arm. 

There's a brief silence, before Harry says something. 

“Remember when we were kiddies, chasing each other around the footie field and jumping off of the playground equipment?” 

Louis glances at Harry, who has his hands playing with his hoodie string, breathing slowly and gulping slightly when he feels Louis' eyes on him. 

“Yeah, instead of hanging with the lads, or chasing after girls, we were off in our own little world,” he replies, sighing almost silently at the memory. 

“'S cute,” Harry smiles. “Like, how you still think I chased girls. The only person I was chasing was you.”

He really has no clue what to say to that, so all he does is kiss Harry's forehead and mentally pats himself on the back with a fond smile when the fifteen year old preens and flushes pink. 

 

 

Best mates, he reminds himself. That's all they ever will be. 

 

 

They must have fallen asleep somewhere along the line, because the next thing he knows is that he's waking up to the sound of someone rummaging through drawers and mumbling a quiet, hushed “fuck”. And it's coming from the bathroom, for sure. And Harry and Louis are the only ones home. 

And honestly, Louis can't think, he's too tired for this shit.

It's then that he notices the absence of Harry's body against his. Must be Harry in the bathroom then, instead of someone coming home or a burglar attempting to steal a bathroom comb. It's just Harry. Little curly haired, green eyed Harry. His best friend. (He really needs to stop overthinking everything and let his mind relax for once. Properly. And he'd be forgetting about the world's existence as he slept in dream land if Harry hadn't been so bloody loud, but, you know what, it's okay; because there's no chance in hell that Louis is capable of being upset with him. Only himself.) 

Just as Louis gets onto his feet, he kicks off his jeans and thanks the heavens for the sleep that made his dick soften for, like, once. For once because when he's around Harry, it's inevitable that the boy makes him feel things that he shouldn't be feeling for someone who wouldn't even spare a second glance at Louis romantically, even on a whim or for a dare. 

Not that Harry would ever hurt him, though, because that would be the last thing that the boy would want to be doing. Rather, if he knew of Louis' feelings for him, he would probably let him down the easiest way possible: having a friendly, little movie night at the theatre, sending worried glances Louis' way out of pity. And, yeah, Louis thinks that makes Harry even more beautiful, definitely. 

Heading down the hallway, his feet pad against the carpet and he leans his head against the bathroom door, listening for something for his ears to pick up on. But all he hears are the sounds of—glue? toothpaste?—smacking in and out of a tube while Harry heavily exhales, hands sounding like they're now placed against the marbled countertop. 

And if that doesn't confuse Louis anymore than anything else already has, this has topped the cake. Extra cherries and strawberries and even raspberries on top and everything. But that's before Harry opens the door, the sound of the doorknob turning and unlocking as Harry stumbles out and seemingly forgets to shut off the light. 

Which Louis thanks the heavens for again, because the light coming from the bathroom is creating an angelic feel to this, to looking at the younger boy. His eyes are wide and green, chocolate coloured curls forming a make believe halo around his head, and his teeth are grazing his bottom lip. 

Fuck, if Louis wants to bite it for him. 

“Oh, hi, Lou,” he whispers, lips shining. Shining. Louis doesn't get it, doesn't understand. “'M sorry for waking you? How're you feeling?”

Harry's lips move slowly as he speaks each syllable and word with such grace, beautiful plump lips still shining and looking sticky as Harry rolls them into his mouth nervously and blatantly taken aback.

And that's when it clicks. The sound of something that comes from Louis' sister's room—the sound that comes from pushing the brush in and out of a lipgloss tube when they are getting ready in the mornings for school, or to go out on a date. It clicks that Harry is wearing lipgloss. 

Oh, god, no. 

Louis really, really doesn't know if he can stop himself from snogging Harry against the wall of the hallway, throwing Harry's legs around his waist as he licks into his mouth and savours the little mewls that Harry leaves against his lips. This has tested his limits and undeniably reached them uncomfortably. Louis is in a sleepy haze still, but he just wants to feel the warmth of Harry's breath panting against his lips. Needs. 

“I'm feeling better, yeah, thank you,” Louis croaks, eyes focusing on Harry's teeth and mouth and fuck, the way his tongue peeks out and swipes across his lips. It's quick, gone before he knows it, but it's enough for him to whine in the back of his throat. 

“You sure?” Harry mumbles, eyes nervous—but why, Louis is unsure of. “You—you sound distressed or whatever.”

“Or whatever.”

“Oh, sod off and answer me.”

“I like it when you talk dirty straight to my face.”

Harry's nostrils seem to flare quite a bit, because they do again as he breathes in and out of his nose with the deep bob of his throat. 

“Straight? Wouldn't be straight if I talked dirty to you, Lou,” he says. 

“I'm sure it wouldn't be, but try me.”

His throat bobs again, mouth drying out the more he and Louis converse. “I'd hate to.”

Louis is silent for about a minute, the two boys just staring at each other, unsure of what to do or what to say now. It isn't awkward, oh no, but the tense atmosphere could be properly sliced with a knife if that were even possible. 

He kind of says it without thinking it through. 

“Why are you wearing lipstick?”

Harry briefly closes his eyes calmly, biting his lip again, and bloody hell, Louis really needs to call him out on doing that so often. “'S my sister's gloss. I—just, sort of, like wearing it sometimes?” he says, as if it's a question that Louis has the answer to. 

“How did you even, like—” realize you liked wearing it?

“Find out that I like putting it on my lips?” Harry tries for nonchalance. He shrugs. “Always have. Used to steal a bunch of her lipsticks and wear it when mum and Gems weren't home.”

“That's…” Louis tries, but Harry interrupts him without letting him finish. 

“Dumb?” he almost sulks, forcing a laugh. “Weird? Girly?” 

“Nah, but girly would suit you. You could even wear a skirt and everything,” Louis teases, heart hammering in his chest. Harry's eyes simply widen as his cheeks flush, his mouth opening and closing like he can't believe Louis just said that. 

And it's so abrupt. Unexpected. But then Harry is breathing out an, “Already have.” The older boy thinks that this might be the death of him. 

“Put,” he says, eyes blown out black, “put one on?”

Harry's eyelashes flutter as he looks at the ground, giggling, trying to hide the dimples forming in his cheeks. (He's always been so insecure about them, Louis knows this, but to be honest, they make him want to kiss Harry's face more and more and more. Louis loves them. Loves Harry.) “You wanna see me in a skirt? Why?”

“Dunno. Maybe I think your bum would look nice in one.” Is he drunk? Why did he just say that out loud? “We could both try them on and compare bums,” he quickly adds. His heart is still picking up its pace in his chest. 

“You win,” Harry grins, fingertips running over his khakis like he's itching to take them off. 

“Not until I see you in a skirt. I don't win until I've seen you in a skirt, H.” 

Harry whines, eyebrows furrowing as his cheeks hint at the arousal he's feeling. “Shit, Lou, okay. Fine, okay. Lemme look in Gemma's room, yeah?”

Unable to form proper words, Louis just nods his head compliantly, which reminds him that they're currently walking down a path that they can't come back from, and the thought of seeing his best mate in a skirt and lipgloss should freak him out instead of making his cock twitch. It's surreal. All surreal, and Louis loves it. 

He notices Harry has ran upstairs, big feet scampering up the stairway that leads to his sister's room. He's eager. Harry is eager to do this, which makes Louis feel like he's overreacting. Maybe Harry has wanted this all along? 

Or maybe Harry is a genuine, golden hearted boy with excitement radiating from his personality all of the time, who happens to jump at the chance of showing off what he hasn't been able to show anyone beforehand to someone willing?

It takes all but two or three minutes before the younger boy is shuffling into the room, the dark of the midnight sky and slight shine of the white stars coming through the glass doors makes Harry look illuminated. It's beautiful, oh my god, it's beautiful.

But not as beautiful as what Harry has hiding behind his folded arms and from within the darkness. 

“I brought a couple,” he tells Louis shyly, fluttering his long eyelashes, and Louis really wonders if that's purposeful or not. “Didn't know what you'd be interested in.”

Louis' nose twitches, and his lips, too. “Interested in seeing you in a skirt, mate.”

Mate. 

The word lingers in the air silently. 

“Y–yeah,” Harry stumbles, cheeks still flushed, the tips of his ears turning red in embarrassment. “But there're flowy skirts, tight skirts—” he pauses, “mini skirts.” 

This time it's Louis' turn to feel embarrassed, because not only are they actually doing this, him and Harry—best mates, buddies, bros—but now Harry is telling him that he is going to try on different styles of skirts for him? And a mini skirt? He might be heading for the light, now. 

“All of them,” he whispers, throat dry and feeling crusty. “I want to see all of them. On you.”

The curls on Harry's head bounce as he whips his head to look into Louis' eyes, his own emerald eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. Harry swallows slowly. 

“Should I change in the loo?”

Yes. Yes, he should. Louis really needs to tell him that he has to. But he doesn't, opting to shake his head instead. 

“Change in front of me?” he says, saying it like a question. “If you want. I'd really like that, Haz.”

The nickname makes Harry's heart flutter and his knees almost collapse, so he just nods frantically and begins stripping out of his khakis. He slides both his feet out, along with his socks, and underneath he's wearing no underwear. Nothing. Nada. Shit. This might be a horrible idea. 

Harry keeps flushing under Louis' intense stare. “I like the way it feels when the material brushes against my skin, and—” he bites his lip, chest heaving. 

“And what, Harry?”

Mewling, Harry looks up at the other boy before plopping onto the floor to get the skirts on easier. All Louis can see are the curves of his arse cheeks, and the crack of his arse that leads to a pretty pink hole that Louis wants to devour. He can't see it, but yet his mouth is salivating in tremendous amounts. 

Harry mewls again, half moan, half whine. “And my cock, Lou. Feels so good.”

Once the skirt is on, the younger boy clumsily gets up on all fours and adjusts the skirt so that it's half covering his bum, but the perky cheeks peeking out from under the plum coloured material as Harry does a little showy spin only makes Louis grow harder. 

He never even noticed he was this hard before. Shit. Shit. 

“God,” he chokes out, voice high, voice trembling. He needs to sit down, so he does. “Lipgloss and now this? You're going to murder me, little one.”

Harry absolutely preens at that, stifling a giggle by biting his lip, but his dimples come out all too well and familiarly. Suddenly, his smile drops, and Louis hates seeing Harry frown like this. 

“Are you sure you want this? We can stop, you know, if you don't.” Which is ridiculous, because currently Louis is sat here sporting a hard dick from beneath his pants, and it's all because of Harry's bloody fit body. 

“No, love, no, of course I do,” he coos, reaching out for Harry because he wants to pull his curls gently. Harry stays where he is, frown evident on his lips. “No, babe, why would I waste my life away by throwing away the best gift I could ever receive in life? You were made to show off mini skirts, fuck.”

Harry's dimples are back out again as he rushes to run over to Louis, sitting in his lap as he wraps his legs and thighs around Louis' waist. Harry's bum is planted on top of Louis' hard cock, and judging by the gasp that comes out of his little mouth, Harry can feel it. 

“Oh my god, Lou, oh my god,” Harry stutters, stumbling over his words as his voice cracks. He starts to slide his arse cheeks against the length of Louis' cock, moaning from the back of his throat as he listens to the feather haired boy's high pitched breath hitches. “Is this okay? Bloody hell, this turns you on? You're hard because of me, like, wearing skirts?”

Louis nods, because, yes, yes and yes. 

Harry breathes out in shock, eyes wide. “I should've worn my panties, then, too.”

That's it. He's going to positively die. “You wear…panties, too?” he croaks. “Panties. Bloody panties.” 

“No, Lou,” Harry laughs, biting his lip as he decidedly grinds down on Louis' cock with his bum, eliciting a loud squeak from the other boy. “Don't have a pussy. I'm all cock.” He stops, swallowing fast and deep. “And I'd let you fuck it, if I did, but I don't, so you'd have to make due with what I've got.”

Louis doesn't say anything, a groan settling deep in his throat, so Harry whines a bit in frustration—for whatever reason—and then goes, “Is that bad?”

“Why would it be bad?”

“That I'm ready to let my best mate fuck me into the floor, or the wall, or ride him and fuck his brains out—jesus christ, that isn't bloody normal.” Harry whines again, grinding down some more, and Harry's dick is bulging against Louis' which makes the both of them feel high suddenly. “Say something.”

“I'm giving up on you,” Louis breathes, bumping his hips up, but Harry's hand grabs Louis' fingers and holds onto them before he's leaning forward. He takes his time, kissing softly against the older boy's jawline, down his neck, and all Louis can really feel are the fluttering of Harry's eyelashes against his tan skin. 

“Fuck—” Harry says, cutting himself off just in time to look Louis in the eyes, “fuck, you are absolutely killing me.”

Louis gasps out a laugh, smile threatening to overtake the pleasure electrifying his entire body, and the hot heat enveloping his lower torso. 

“And you're absolutely brilliant.”

“You're only saying that 'cause I'm humping you and my arse is rubbing against your dick.”

“No, I'm saying it because you're my best mate,” he says, saying, screw it, and then he's muttering out, “and I've also wanted to do this with you for fuckin' weeks.”

Harry's head falls into Louis' neck, hips doing little figure eights as he moans and bites at the flesh there, sucking a hickey onto the skin like his life depends on it. 

“I've been wanting this—you—for years, Lou.”

If this isn't enough for him to snap his hips up and let out a growl, Louis thinks he would faint. He does, though, fingers wrapped around Harry's palm and closed fingers, and he can't believe they haven't kissed yet. Why is Louis not kissing him? 

“You're brilliantly brilliant,” he swallows his spit building in the back of his throat, “absolutely beautiful. Are you even real? Are you sure you aren't an angel?” he babbles. 

That just earns a giggle from the younger of the two. Harry's laugh has got to be his new favourite thing, food and sleep and anyone else be damned. It's all Harry, Harry, Harry. He's all Louis cares about right now, wants to drown in his scent and feel Harry's tongue all over his skin, sucking on his tongue and thighs, licking into his mouth and biting Louis' bottom lip. He wants to open Harry up, finger him until he's practically drooling, his little pink hole twitching as he hits his prostate, and Harry moans loudly. 

And he's sure of it. Louis has never needed to know something so bad—how loud someone would be when he fucks into them—until now, just now. Except, to him, this wouldn't only be fucking someone. It would be making love to his Harry. The cute, dimpled, curly haired boy that resembles a sex god despite only his fifteen years; the boy who has somehow made Louis into a weak mess just by being his best mate, and always resting his head in Louis' lap as if it wouldn't have any impact on him in the long run or make him want to softly kiss Harry like a delicate little flower. 

It makes his heart weep with how much he truly needs to touch the younger boy. 

“Is this,” he stops, leaning in to tilt his head towards Harry's lips, “okay? Can I kiss you?” 

Harry bites his lip again, for the thousandth time, Louis thinks. He wants to bite it too. 

“Yes, yes,” he whines, moaning on the second word. He keeps letting their cocks brush together, the both of them aching against each other, and it drives Harry mad. His hips are stuttering, and he's blabbing out little “fuck"s and "oh my god, i want this so bad”. When Harry's bum presses hard against Louis' dick, Louis almost pins him to the wall right then and there. “This isn't too fast, is it?”

Harry's eyes widen slightly, but they're focused on Louis' lips, and then he shyly shakes his head, curls bouncing as his innocent little green eyes look up at Louis. That's all it really takes before Louis is leaning forward and attacking Harry's mouth, lips sliding together stickily because of the lipgloss and desperately before their tongues brush, and Harry sucks on Louis' like that's a completely acceptable thing to do. The boy seems to think he's allowed to take control, to wreck Louis like this, but he isn't. So Louis grabs his head, lips still touching as they lick into each other's mouths, Louis feeling his boy moaning and panting against him the second he tugs on his hair. 

“Not—” he dips his head to suck a love bite onto Harry's milky white neck, “in—” and he tugs on the boy's curly locks, eliciting a strangled moan from Harry, rocking his hips up onto Louis' like he can't breathe, “control, little one.”

“You can touch me. Can—can do anything you want to me, Lou. All yours, all yours,” Harry deeply mewls, hips continuously grinding, wanting Louis' cock to just be inside of him already, “promise I'll be a good boy, your good little boy, and I can please you and choke on your cock until I'm crying, just please touch me, Louis.”

“Don't tell me what to do,” he growls—softly, because this is his baby boy—stopping Harry's hips from moving any longer, before picking the boy up and pushing him onto his back so his legs are spread and his hard cock is visible through the skirt. Louis' mouth is fucking watering. 

“Okay,” Harry whispers compliantly, hands limply at his sides, basking in the way it feels to be in this position for Louis. 

His skirt rides up slightly as Louis spreads Harry's thighs apart just enough so he can massage them with the palms of his hands and his fingers. This makes Harry completely lose it, thighs quivering as his lips tremble with want, with need, taking everything he has to in order to stop himself from squeezing his thighs together for some friction. Louis holds him there like that, until he's leaning his head into the spaces between each thigh, kissing them, grazing his teeth over the milky flesh, and Harry is absolutely delicious. His mouth deserves to be on Harry all of the time. 

The sensations flickering over Harry make him swallow hard, fingers going up to tangle in the older boy's hair. “Please, I want—” and he's choking on his own words by now, “want to finger myself while you watch me.”

Fuck. 

Louis feels his cock twitch, his mouth salivating. “Oh my god,” he breathes out, “what a good boy, you are, yeah? Ready to open yourself up for me while I look at you? Watching you ruin yourself right in front of me?”

Harry whines without opening his mouth, rubbing his thighs together and taking great relief in the way his nerves seem to shoot up his torso, like he's close to coming. 

But Harry isn't, not yet. 

“Call me your good boy again,” he says as he scrambles to sit up, lifting his skirt just enough so his hard cock can be seen, and the second he sees Harry's cockhead glistening with precum, he almost loses his mind. Harry's fingers reach up to his mouth to suck on them, slicking them up with spit before he reaches around his backside, finger ready to touch his little hole. “Please?” he adds on quickly, realizing that he might get in trouble for what he's just said. 

“You're mine,” Louis groans, reaching forward to grab Harry's hips in his hands. He turns the boy around, riding the skirt up so his perky bum sits in front of his face, and god be damned, he wants to eat Harry out and tongue fuck him until he doesn't know his own fucking name. “My good boy, hmm?” Harry's fingers play with his hole, slipping one inside as he lets out a high, choked out moan. “Like when you're dirtying yourself up for me like this, on your knees with your arse in my face like a goddamn slut?” 

The boy lets out a mewl in confirmation, jerking his head down when Louis' hand comes down and spanks him. Hard. And then Louis' spanking him again, spreading Harry's arse cheeks and rubbing over his hole that's being fucked by Harry's long fingers. The fast pace of his fingers pumping in and out of him causes him to choke out, adding another digit. “Louis.”

Another hand strikes his bum, and by now there are red marks on it from how hard he's being spanked. 

“Answer me when I ask you something,” he mumbles forcefully into Harry's red ears, noticing the heavy pink flush on the boy's cheeks as his mouth opens and closes. “And I believe I asked you if you liked being on your knees for me like a slut.”

His mouth opens again, letting out a wrecked whine, pushing back against his fingers like he's done this so many times before. “Mmm, oh my god—yes, 've always wanted you to touch me like this, Lou.”

Louis grins, chewing on his lip as he spanks Harry again, making the boy lurch forward a bit as he chokes out a soft pleasurable cry. 

“Yeah? For how long?” 

“Since you turned thirteen, an' I was eleven, and you had on these shorts that made your arse look so bloody good, Lou, oh my god. Made my heart—” he pauses, fucking himself with his fingers even harder, still being so damn loud, but he doesn't care, just needs to find his prostate and he can't, “it almost made me cry, it just ached so bad with how badly I wanted you—oh, shit,” he groans, almost toppling over when Louis leans down, pulling Harry's four fingers out of himself to replace it with them with his tongue. 

Louis licks at Harry's hole, feeling it flutter against the flat side of his tongue, and then he's sucking on it and prodding it inside of Harry. 

“I—” Harry chokes, “fuck, fuck, Louis—baby, please, need to touch my cock.”

Instead of replying, Louis just spreads Harry's arse cheeks further and opens up the boy even further, even deeper, with his flickering tongue. The older boy can feel Harry's entire body spasming, like he's losing absolute control over the jerks and movements of himself, and it's the hottest thing he has ever seen. 

Harry's in such a compromising, sinful position, on all fours while his bum sticks into the air, pressed against Louis' face like his tongue is the only thing keeping him alive. Giving himself up like he's grounding himself to the floor just so Louis can do everything and anything to him—could even fuck him into the ground with his cock, hitting his prostate head on, and Harry would only scream his name and babble out how much he loves Louis' cock being inside of him. 

When Harry's hand goes around, below his little tummy, to tug on his cock, Louis slaps it away and whispers in his ear, “No, 'm gonna suck you off instead, while your pretty little hole gets filled up with a vibrator that I'll have the remote to.” Harry quivers, nodding enthusiastically as Louis leans down to lick into his mouth again, and he truly forgot how much he loved kissing this boy. “I want you unable to breathe properly, toes twitching, lips aching for my lips to kiss them, and your hands unable to go anywhere near me or yourself, Harry.”

“Please,” Harry whines, moaning loudly before he slaps his hand over his mouth harshly and pinches the skin there. He looks like he wants to moan as his face flushes red, and Harry likes it. Likes not being able to breathe while he's getting fucked. 

Louis might be the one unable to breathe. 

“Princess,” Louis mumbles against the boy's skin, kissing it gently, “my good baby boy, 'm gonna make you feel like you're in heaven, yeah? Come on, on your back,” he says, voice soft as satin. 

Harry gets up and flips over, hard cock bobbing against his tummy, leaking and red and absolutely beautiful. The skirt has rode up past Harry's waist, but the bottom still manages to scratch and flutter against Harry's cock, making the younger boy jerk his hips up for more.

His green eyes are looking at Louis now, pupils blown, his pretty plump lips covered in lipgloss and spit, curls sticking to his forehead from sweating and toes curled. He's shaking, breathing coming out in pants and long, harsh grunts as Louis doesn't touch him, caught up in staring at Harry. 

He's just so beautiful, and god, does he want Harry to choke on his cock, too. And that's—that's going to happen sometime. He'll make sure of it, if Harry is okay with it. 

“Gonna get you that vibrator, sweetheart,” he mumbles, kissing Harry's forehead as the boy nods his head with his mouth open, biting his lip longingly. 

He retrieves it quickly, the toy and lube only being in the other room down the hall, and Harry almost thrashes when he sees how long and thick it is. 

“God, oh my god,” he whines, bum grinding down onto the floor, the head of his cock still leaking precum and twitching. “I'm going to die. My cock—it hurts, oh my god, it really hurts.”

”Shh, baby, good boys keep their mouths closed unless I tell them otherwise.”

Harry bites his lip hard and rolls both of them into his mouth after, nodding his head and breathing heavily through his nose. The boy's eyelids are drooping, throat bobbing as if his breath is being caught in his throat—and maybe it is. 

Louis uncaps the bottle of lube and slicks the vibrator up, crawling on his knees towards Harry. He kisses the boy, loving the stickiness of their lips gliding together messily, and enjoys the way Harry's tongue stutters against his own. On his own accord, Harry even bites down on Louis' bottom lip and pulls back with his teeth still wrapped around it. He lets it go, eyeing the older boy up in front of him, before lifting his legs up a bit, making Louis grab onto his thighs to pull the boy closer and wrap his ankles around Louis' waist for a brief moment. 

“'M just gonna put this inside of you, okay, darling? Promise it won't hurt you, it'll even feel better than your fingers.” 

Harry preens at the pet name, choking out a giggle. 

“Okay, Lou,” he gulps, smiling and biting his lip again. His dimples are out, and it makes Louis' heart violently pump in his chest. God, he adores this boy, his Harry. 

“Okay,” he says, nudging the slicked up toy against Harry's rim, who whimpers—pathetically desperate for himself, but brilliantly beautiful for Louis. Rather quickly, it slides into his hole, placed inside of the younger boy as if it was meant to be there. “Good boy. My baby boy is taking it like he's done this so many times before.”

“I 'ave,” Harry nods, close to hurting his neck from how hard he does it, “there's a rubber cock that I use whenever I think of you fucking me.”

“Yeah? What do you like doing to it?”

The boy is whimpering now, hole clenching around the toy as Louis grabs the remote and turns the power up a notch. “Ride it. I ride it,” he says, gasping the moment the vibrations touch his prostate. “Oh my god, right there. More, Lou, more,” he pleads, at the end adding on a broken, “please.”

So Louis turns the power up higher and Harry's cock twitches eagerly against his navel before Louis' crouching down and taking his boy's cock down his throat. Coming back up, his tongue dips into the slit, thumb rubbing it until he takes Harry's cock back into his mouth. Louis hollows his cheeks, bobbing his head as he sucks hard, ears picking up the sound of a babbling Harry mewling and crying out for him by his name. His eyes search for Harry's, hand jerking the base of the younger boy's cock that he's unable to fit into his mouth, and sees the way the boy's curly fringe is completely stuck to his forehead with sweat while his mouth stutters open. 

“Mmm, Lou, Lou, Lou, god. Take my cock.”

Harry's hips jerk forward as he lets out a miniature whimper that sounds sweet as honey and sugar to Louis' ears, almost making Louis choke on his dick. His hands move to run his fingers through Louis' feathery soft hair, pulling on it and tugging it hard like a bad boy would—so Louis licks the underside of the boy's cock along the pulsing vein there, gaining a loud moan from Harry that has Harry's hands pulling more harshly into Louis' hair. And that's when Louis sucks the head of Harry's cock into his mouth as hard as he can, the boy's arse cheeks twitching and hole fluttering around the vibrator as it fucks against his prostate, and notices the tears dripping down Harry's pink cheeks when he looks up from the boy's pretty cock in his mouth. 

“So full, Lou. I'm—” he spasms, body jerking again, unable to stop it. Louis can feel Harry's cock twitching against his tongue, loves the way Harry's precum tastes salty yet sweet, and wants to lick it all up and swallow the boy's cum so bad. “I'm so filled up, feels amazing. Feel so full an'—” he squeaks, vibrator continuously rubbing against his sweet spot, and Harry is so fucking close, “an' fuck, 'm imagining that 's you.” That you're inside of me too.

Louis tongues Harry's slit once more, before he pops off with a harsh suck and reaches to push the vibrator further inside of the boy's hole. Harry's whining, jerking his hips forward, missing the way Louis' mouth felt like a hot, hot heat—almost as if it were Louis' arsehole, and Harry has never felt this tight feeling in his chest before; the feeling that his body is going to explode, and his cock is never going to stop quivering against Louis' small hand. He feels hot all over, sweating from being overwhelmed with this good, good feeling that he had never experienced before this, and watches as the older boy gets on his knees with a little smirk.

“Get up, darling,” he coos, jerking the wrecked, barely breathing boy off with his lubed up hand. Heat keeps coiling in Harry's abdomen, he's so, so close. “Need you to come here so you can cum all over my face.”

Harry groans, hastily positioning himself so his dick is directly across from Louis' face. “Fuuuuck, yes.”

The vibrator is still inside of him. Still right against his prostate. Harry might fucking die. 

“Cum, now, Harry. Be a good boy.”

As Louis sucks on Harry's cock again, bobbing his head enthusiastically as he looks at the boy pretty well fucking into his mouth, he plays with the slit and then Harry is whimpering. 

“Gonna cum—Lou, gonna, fuc—k,” he whines, grunting as Louis pops off his cock and watches as Harry starts to pump himself quickly and hastily, before he's cumming in hot, white spurts all over Louis' face. He keeps jerking his hand over his cock to work him through his orgasm, flicking his wrist over the head and thumb dipping near the slit while the vibrator sensitively fucks itself inside Harry's pretty little hole. 

Some of Harry's cum lands in Louis' mouth as he opens it, landing on Louis' tongue, and some on his thick eyelashes and thin lips. And then Louis is swallowing it like it's his dessert, smiling fondly as he catches Harry as he falls forward onto the older boy's chest. 

“I can't—shiiit, stop the toy—”

“No.”

“Fuck, Louis,” he cries out, eyes welling with tears from the overstimulation, but Louis just lets Harry lay against his chest while the vibrator buzzes inside of the boy. “Ha–rd again,” he gasps. 

Louis' tugging on his own cock, gasping in relief, feeling Harry's hands wrapped around his neck as he trembles and screams into Louis' skin. With the other hand not on his dick, he remembers what Harry likes, and holds the boy's throat tightly as he comes close to another orgasm. 

Harry's gasping out, entirely wrecked, face flushed red, lips parted and eyes no longer left with any green, whole body quivering. His hole keeps fluttering prettily, although neither of them can see it, and as Louis tightens his grip on Harry's throat and he's desperately searching for some air to breathe in, he's cumming again. 

Louis wanks him through it, hand now free from his throat as he lets Harry breathe, and kisses Harry's lips. There's cum dripping onto Harry's mini skirt and all over Louis' hand, so he licks his hand clean and sees Harry watching in awe. 

“Jesus christ,” he whispers, biting his lip, head so fuzzy. 

And that's when Louis' dipping his head down, hair falling in his face, as he swipes the rest of Harry's cum up with his tongue. 

Harry just. Sits there and stares, absolutely dazed. Absolutely wrecked. Louis grabs the remote control and turns the toy off, watching as the boy slouches in relief from the previous oversensitivity coursing through his body.

“Fuck those skirts,” he mumbles, shakily breathing out as he lays on his back to stare up at the ceiling. The vibrator is still inside of him.

Louis laughs. “What?”

Harry giggles a bit, rolling over to face Louis, and he looks so sleepy it makes his heart feel pained. “This one's prob'ly stained now, and the other ones I never got to show to you.” 

Kissing Harry's lips, he can feel the boy smiling, before muttering an “oops” against his lips. Harry's lips are still sticky from the lipgloss, even after all of this, and Louis bites Harry's neck like a vampire instead of letting himself giggle back. 

“I'm sorry,” Louis mumbles, face nuzzling in the smaller boy's neck. He presses a wet kiss there, looking back up at Harry to see the boy grinning at him dopily. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, Harry.”

Said boy pulls him down beside him, facing him with earnest eyes. “Don't I need to get you off too?” 

“Nah,” Louis says, shaking his head. “My dick had a party while you came for the second time.”

Harry barks out a laugh, grabbing Louis' face to kiss him. “You're dumb. And I love you.” Louis grins, eyes flickering to the other boy's lips hungrily, but in a whole other way than before. 

“Now kiss me, you fool,” Harry says, nudging his nose against Louis', the older boy's hand dangling at Harry's hip where his skirt lay, ruined and stained, and then that hand comes up to Harry's face. 

And kisses him. Feeling the toothy grin against his lips. Which is enough for Louis to start licking into Harry's mouth, biting his lip softly, making Harry's grin turn into a smile. 

“You gotta show me those skirts next time,” he mumbles against the boy's lips.

Harry wraps his hands around Louis' neck. “'S what best mates are here for.” He smirks, biting his lip to stifle a laugh. “Skirt shows.”

“I hate you.”


	2. Chapter 2

After that, the boys don't talk much about it.

The reminder comes whenever Harry happens to go over to Louis' and sees the remote control laying sloppily on his floor, lost in the mess of clothes around the room. Also happens whenever Harry spots that same vibrator tucked, supposedly in hiding, under a box of waxing strips (probably one of Louis' sisters, because Louis' legs are way too hairy) and wedged between a bunch of hair products and toilet paper.

He thinks that it's quite the rubbish hiding place, what with his sisters possibly finding it and asking what it is—or touching it, and that has been inside of Harry, okay, he is aloud to be shivering at the thought—but then again, the older boy has never really been that great with hide 'n' seek either.

The thing is, the toy isn't Harry's. Louis brought it with him in his sleepover bag as a joke, Niall teasing him mercilessly and taking the piss, saying, ” _bet you won't be able to use this on anybody_ ” and Louis had told him, _“I'll prove you wrong”_ and, well.

Yeah, that happened.

(So, of course, Harry is worrying that he was only an experiment to win that bet, and it's kind of eating away at him. Badly.)

Now, too, it's been days. _Days_. Harry hasn't seen Louis for _days_ , Louis blaming it on the study sessions he needs to have alone, which is bullocks since Harry knows his best mate, knows that he does not study. What Louis does, instead, is weep at his desk while he watches youtube videos on his laptop.

 _Harry_ bought him that laptop. For Christmas. Last Christmas.

It's not like the eighteen year old is forgetting about him, no, but it sure feels like it sometimes. Feels almost as if the skirt and makeup thing bugged Louis, that he got himself off and now he wants only little to do with Harry—just because Harry has always been around, probably won't ever be able to leave him alone, either.

And he feels pathetic.

His attempts at hanging out with the older boy have just gone to shit, leaving Harry lonely, lonelier than he has ever felt, and so confused, because he has no idea where any of this has lead the two of them. And, truthfully, it frightens him more than he wants to admit.

So that's why he's now standing at the window to Louis' room, right above ground level, watching as his best mate changes his shirt, obviously opting for a blue and white striped one with tan khakis covering the bulge in his briefs Harry has had the pleasure of quickly witnessing.

(See, this is why he's legitimately pathetic.)

His twitching hand is behind his back, holding a boquet of pretty flowers: baby's breath dancing around the blood red roses—the lady at the shop said that these were a sign of love, and Harry loves ( _trusts_ ) Louis with all of his life—pink and purpley blue tulips and pansies decorated amongst the little baby white flowers. He thinks it looks like the flowers are wearing their own flower crown. _Teamwork_. Working with each other to impress Louis better since about twenty minutes ago.

And that's cute. But Louis—Louis tops the flowers by a maximum infinity, that is how cute he really is. Hair tousled, eyes crinkled, sweats baggy enough around his ankles but tight around his beautiful thighs, cerulean eyes looking at Harry with something akin to adoration or intense happiness. So, so cute, Harry _swears_.

Which is partially why he's now here. With flowers behind his back and lips rolled into his mouth nervously the closer he inches to the glass in order to tap on it and alert Louis.

He knocks, sucks in a harsh breath and almost screams when he sees Louis' eyebrows furrow, slowly walking to the window to peek at what the sound was. When he sees Harry, he almost drops the shirt in his hands, fumbling with the latch on the window to open it and, eyebrows still furrowed and wrinkling his forehead adorably, motions for Harry to climb in.

“Whatcha doing here, H?” he asks, genuinely confused, and Harry thinks it's the best time to pull out the boquet from behind his back. So he does, and Louis' eyebrows shoot up to his hairline this time. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Harry blushes, slightly but it's noticeable, and leans down to look at the other boy. “'S for you, and yeah,” he finishes lamely, heart hammering in his chest.

Louis takes the flowers gently, trying not to hit them against the window, because for some odd reason Harry has yet to climb inside.

“Thank you, that's really—”

“You're welcome,” Harry cuts him off, breathing shakily. “Sorry, should've let you finish.”

That earns a little snicker, Louis smirking, so he feels successful. “You should've, but you didn't, and I also am not going to be mad at you for that when you've brought me flowers like a proper prince.”

“Looooouis, _stop_ ,” Harry whines, flushing so bad he has to hide his face in his sweater paws. “Oh my _god_ , you are godawful today.”

“Oh, bugger off,” the older boy rolls his eyes, although fondly. “Now get your cute little arse in here, looking at you like this is hurting my neck, Harold.”

So Harry does just that, plopping his bum on the dirt and rocks and grass before he slides his body through the crack. He lands on the floor, bum aching and the bones there feeling broken, but he gets Louis' hand stretching out to help him up, so it's really no issue.

Rubbing his arse, he huffs. “See what you made me do.”

“You're just a clumsy giraffe, is all, don't blame me for your long limbs and wobbly knees.”

And Louis is teasing, it's a normal occurence normally. But now, under these new, abnormal circumstances, Louis teasing seems weird. Off. Mad.

“ _Why_ am I friends with you?”

“'Cause I give good head.”

Harry splutters at that, gaping at the boy with his watering mouth and dry throat, which, how is that even possible?

“Please,” he says, trying to seem cooled off and totally not hot and bothered. Or embarrassed. “You're not that good.”

Louis purses his lips, grinning suddenly. “I'm sure. Bet you're better, though.”

Okay, no, this is not happening again. He came here to apologize, not get embrassingly hard in front of his best friend—with fucking benefits, it seems—or have this turn into something he can't turn back from.

That's why he's swallowing hard now, hands sweating and cheeks madly pink.

“About, like, that,” he mumbles, eyes diverted to the floor. “Can we have a chat about— _that_?”

Louis realizes his sincerity, the seriousness of his tone, and almost unnoticeably gulps. He reaches over to Harry and brushes the boy's flushed cheeks—and, oh my, he's _warm_ —and gets Harry's pretty eyes on him again with pure luck.

“Sure, of course, Haz. Can I, like, say something, though?”

Harry's eyes close, as if he's a kitten being petted and who is purring with soft vibrations. He really wants to be petted by Louis. Right now, _forever_. He nods instead, leaning into the touch as Louis cups his chin and brushes his thumb back and forth against Harry's soft, milky white skin.

“ _I'm really, truly, genuinely, completely, absolutely, positively—_ ”

Rolling his eyes, a smile plays on Harry's pink lips and he pushes his hand against the other boy's chest as if to signal, _get on with it._

“— _what_? I'm being serious,” Louis says, eyebrows furrowing as he juts out his bottom lip, which he _never_ does, that's _Harry's_ thing, so the fluttering of Harry's heart was bound to happen.

“I guarantee you're really, really not.”

Nudging Harry with his shoulder, he breathes out and in deeply, smile melting off his face sweetly, before he pulls Harry close. Their bodies are pressed together, Louis' heart beating against Harry's frantic one, making it hard for the younger boy to properly breathe. Louis wraps his arms around Harry's little waist, fingers interlocking then, and he nuzzles his head against Harry's neck.

“I meant to say,” he breathes, the warm air hitting the other boy's neck like a chinook, “that I'm sorry, and that I shouldn't have avoided you like that.”

“Yeah, you really shouldn't have.”

“Are you mad?”

It takes everything in Harry to not sigh, or swallow deeply because Louis would feel that. His miniature, little nose is cold at the tip and nudging Harry's neck.

“I was, but not anymore,” he mutters, opting for comforting words, but he doesn't think it comforts Louis much.

He feels Louis breathe through his nose. It tickles his skin, eliciting a high whine to build up in his throat. Louis' lips just quirk up into a little smile.

“Good,” he says, smile dropping as he thinks a bit. “'M sorry, Harry.”

“'S okay, just please don't leave me hanging, or, like, ditch me at school?”

“Never.”

“Okay. Can we,” he pauses, heart beating rapidly, fastly, enthusiastically—whatever it wants to be labeled as. “Can we maybe snuggle?”

“Curly,” Louis smiles, watching as Harry's dimples come out onto his cheeks for the first time since he has been over. “Baby boy, _Harold_ , snuggling is my real name.”

“No, it's not. Don't lie.”

“Yes it is. If I stop telling you the truth, you better stop thinking this is all an illusion,” Louis whispers, playing with and tugging on the younger one's curls. It makes Harry flush. Again.

“Teacher, Louis' using big words to make himself sound grown up again,” he shoots back, taking delight in the way that Louis' laughter bubbles up his throat, through his throat and comes out in snorts.

“Mum, Harry thinks he's a big boy but he's really just a teacher's pet, I don't want to be his friend anymore if this is how our friendship is going to be,” the older boy sighs, and it's dramatic, making Harry forget the tense atmosphere, relishing in the warm air abruptly coating him like a blanket. Weird, because the window is open, but he chooses not to question it.

“Shut up, _Lewis_ ,” he grumbles grumpily, snatching Louis' hand so he can pull him onto the carpet with him. Louis yelps, whispering loudly against the shell of Harry's ear.

“I'm telling the principal that you like it rough and want harsher discipline this time.”

“The principal fucks me rough every Friday night, so he already knows that,” Harry smirks, bursting into little giggles that make his voice sound deeper, raspier, and Louis loves it. Loves it with passion.

Still, he smacks Harry's shoulder lightly. “Bullshit,” he says, narrowing his eyes playfully. Harry shakes his head slowly, smiling for effect and randomly starts to bop his head as if there's music playing. “Your principal is about fifty, and stop your head from dancing. It has a mind of it's own.”

Harry starts to move his shoulders up and down, head down, eyes closed while he shakes his body and holds his hands up to dance with him. Louis' noticed before, that Harry likes to do this quite a lot. Otherwise, he can't seem to dance that well. At all.

“Wrong, Lewis, that's all me,” Harry scoffs, enthusiastically shimmying by now.

Louis pulls the boy in, stopping his body from dancing anymore—not that it isn't damn cute, oh god—and climbs behind him so he can press their bodies together. Back to chest, spooning, and Harry smiles at the fact that Louis remembers that Harry likes being the little spoon.

They haven't cuddled in such a long time, truly, which is what makes this so special to the younger boy.

“I bloody well believe that you've asked me for snuggles, so snuggle me.”

“Snuggles Tomlinson obeying my wishes?” Harry grins, biting his lip to keep his giggles trapped. “What a lucky day.”

“The luckiest,” Louis mumbles against Harry's skin, the nape of his neck, and it sends a shiver down Harry's body. “For me, too, since I've got this nice, little body spooning me.”

“Mm,” Harry smiles. The floor against his shoulder hurting a bit, but he doesn't say anything. He feels warm all over, and so does Louis. “You're warm,” he voices softly.

“You're bony.”

Harry elbows him.

“You're a tosser.”

“ _Wrong_.”

“ _Right_.”

And if this feels like flirting, when Louis' hand reaches out to hold onto Harry's slender ones, then no one witnessing them locking their fingers together and smiling while their legs tangle together, that's pure luck, too.

 

 

 

Eventually, Harry had to leave. Everything felt significantly better, and sadly his body felt significantly colder without Louis' body pressed against his. He hates how much he misses that feeling, and he's only been gone for like ten minutes.

The nagging feeling of Louis never touching him again keeps itching at his heart, though, making it pound and pound as he walks down the sidewalk on his way home. He hopes that it has nothing to do with Niall making that silly bet—and that's just it. It's a silly bet, a silly joke. This shouldn't even be crossing Harry's mind. They're best mates for a reason.

But as his feet trip on the curb, he grumbles out a “fuck” and begins to walk faster, wanting to be back home with his mum eating dinner, wanting to see and hold his kitty Dusty, and wanting Louis to kiss him while their heads rest on one pillow, hearts touching and fingertips and fingers grasping each other tenderly.

 

 

 

Everything feels wrong.

It's ridiculous, how little control Louis has around the younger boy. He's sitting here, cuddled up under his blanket while he waits for nothing exciting to happen in this show, because nothing exciting ever happens on this show, anyway. And he can't stop thinking about the boy—his little, clumsy giraffe, Harry.

And, really, is Harry even _his_? Because the one time thing they did the other night must've meant something more than just a casual, little fling, but Harry seemed to completely avoid speaking about what had happened. Flushed, like it embarrassed him to think about his best friend that way, or something—or something, exactly, that he can't seem to figure out.

Louis just hopes, _hopes_ like he is hoping to see the light when he dies, that he will be able to kiss those lips again and pull on those curls again and make Harry whimper and groan again as he sucks all over his skin and sucks his cock, right until he's cumming against Louis' wet tongue, fingers almost ripping the older boy's hair out.

He wants to be able to bring Harry into the bathroom, kiss the boy breathlessly while he listens to the heavy little noises Harry makes just for him, and slide his cock inside of his little hole before pounding into him against the wall of the stall. He wants to have Harry scratching his thighs, so he can go back and kiss them and soothe them with those kisses, wants to make the boy cum untouched, and wants to deepthroat Harry's pretty cock like he was made to do just that. He just—he just wants to cum inside of Harry, only to watch it leak out of his hole as he feels delicate fingertips and palms of the boy's hands pressed to Louis' chest. Harry kissing him, whimpering nervously but licking into Louis' mouth with so much adoration. So much need, desire, warmth and love.

Now, _best mates?_

It seems proper cliche saying so, but if Louis realizes then that there is a wide chance he is falling in love, never does he voice it or even choose to notice it past being a passing thought. His tea that he made about a minute ago steams, creating patterns and swirls in the air, but Louis is too focused on his hands clutching the bedspread and his breathing making the covers move up and down.

It's just—yeah, a _passing_ , but _lingering_ , thought.

 

 

 

 

School the next day goes simply. Boring, but simply, and true to his word Louis doesn't go out of his way to stay away from Harry.

At first, the next couple of days, whenever the boy is around Louis, he makes efforts to smile at him from down the hall and run up to him and pepper him in tender hugs. But every night that Louis lay in bed, thinking about how badly he wants something that he cannot have, won't seem to let himself have, Louis begins distancing himself. 

Again.

Which is so, so wrong. 

It starts off when Louis keeps making excuses as to why he can't come over to Harry's after school, and even at lunch he will run off without Harry and leave the boy behind, a confused and hurt and lost, little mess (because he tells himself, _you need to think about taking care of yourself, too, and constantly dealing with a heavy heart and lost feelings is bad for you_ ) which, mind you, has already upset Harry once—so, really, he needs to _stop_ , but he can't. _Can't_. He very well cannot tell the boy what has been going on inside of his brain, probably would end up frightening him and make him scurry away until they lost contact forever.

Maybe he's being dramatically dramatic, but it's fair. His fears are allowed to make him dramatic. But they're not allowed to scare him away from Harry, making him lose the one person in his life who he cares most about—even more than cats, and Louis likes cats because Harry reminds him of one—however.

They only have a few classes together, and the entire morning had gone by with Louis feeling Harry's eyes on the back of his head, tingling his skin and making him scratch himself. Uncomforting. Uneasy. He had barely been able to pay proper attention. 

( _Look at me,_ Harry had texted him for about the fifth time. Always saying something _new_ , something _different,_ quirky. Louis had read it, grabbing his lit up phone as quick as he could muster before turning it over and shutting off the vibrate in case it alerted the teacher.

That'd be bad, and it could potentially get both himself and Harry into shit.

But, like, it was the middle of talking about Creative Arts, and the curly haired boy was not leaving him alone. He kept constantly fiddling with his phone, sending the older boy sappy messages and terrible jokes that almost had Louis smiling down at his phone and replying with a cute little comeback. But that thought was terrifying. He couldn't flirt with his _best mate._

_You look nice today. Xx_

_I don't understand why you aren't sitting beside me, though. Do I look bad, Lou? :(_

_I can make up for my bad looking face in jokes._

_What did the chicken say after crossing the road?_

_Nothing, it was dead._

_Louis._

_Louuuuuiiiisss._

_I hope you know that you'll always be my best friend._

_Until the day we both die. We can even be best friends in the afterlife. Xx :)_

Louis had almost cried, really, instead choosing to glance back at the younger boy, who had his eyebrows furrowed as he bit his lip, focused on typing something else. His fingers tapped away at the screen before he closed his eyes, flipped his phone over in his lap and sighed while turning it off.

_You'll also forever be my favourite._

_Love u._

The texts stop after that, when Harry had realized that there wasn't a chance of recieving any replies back with Louis' phone now turned right off.)

That's why, when he spots Niall laying in the grass as the sun surprisingly shines down on him, continuously throwing something in the air, he heads over to him with hasty steps.

 _Niall_ : the person Louis was introduced to by his old mate from Doncaster, Stan, and the person who likes to drink every weekend like a true Irishman over doing his piled up due projects. Typical high school student, except this year he's graduating, and Louis is genuinely concerned about whether Niall will be graduating with him.

That's a whole other story, though.

Said boy takes notice of the figure standing above him, grinning cheesily, still throwing the object he's somehow gotten ahold of into the air.

“Tommo, m'boy!”

His grin is infectious, Louis swears. “Leprechaun,” he nods in acknowledgment.

Niall throws something at him, to which Louis realizes are his keys—and leave it up to Niall to be carelessly tossing around his keys with the possibility of losing them somewhere in the grass.

“Fuckin' shitehead,” the blonde boy says, without any venom or spite. “What ya up to, my mate?”

Louis sits down, legs crossing and he sighs. Niall knows Harry, knows that Harry is three years younger—a freshman—and that him and Louis grew up like brothers. _Brothers_. And, really, that's why Louis can feel his heart beating faster than it should be when he opens his mouth to say something, to talk about what's bothering him, being by Niall of all people. (Louis loves him, so it's okay.)

It comes out like a croak when he says, “Harry and I shagged the other night” as calmly as he can muster.

The silence suddenly feels deafening, and the people talking around them now barely register within Louis' mind. 

“Woah, shit, mate,” Niall visibly gasps, and under any other circumstance, maybe Louis would be making fun of him for that. He sits up, looking at Louis with widened blue eyes. “Full on fucking, 'n everything?”

“Not,” Louis says awkwardly, “quite?”

Niall looks deeply confused. “Either your cock was up his arse or his cock was up your arse, what's not quite about that?”

Louis swears he almost spits out his air in a loud guffaw that's full of shock and—and, honestly, _horniness_ , because thinking of Harry fucking into Louis made him feel chills, but the thought of himself pounding into Harry's pretty, little pink hole has got chills running through his _dick_.

 _His_ fucking _dick._

“It's complicated,” Louis admits, earning a weird, pointed look from his friend. “What? It _is_.”

“Sure, of course.”

Louis tries, bloody well tries so hard, to refrain from rolling his eyes. “None of that happened? I gave him head, he touched himself and we just—”

“Never touched each other?” Niall says, face blank. Full of disappointment. “Lame.”

“We did so!” he exclaims, loudly enough to earn a couple looks from a few girls in the courtyard, but he doesn't spare them another glance. Rude, that, Harry would tell him. “Just never went all the way, I guess?”

“Because you're _lame_.”

“Shut up, Niall.”

There's a beat of silence, and then the blonde haired boy looks at Louis, eyes searching for something—the truth, possibly, or maybe whether Louis has brought a lunch with him today, since this boy is absolutely obsessed with eating.

“Do you wanna _be_ with Harry, then?” he asks, tilting his head curiously, and whether he notices the way Louis' cheeks sort of flush at that or he doesn't, he acts unphased.

Louis pulls some grass out of the ground after he's sat down. “Why're you asking?”

“Because you come to me for advice, never to tell me about shagging a nobody.”

“Harry isn't a _nobody_ , Niall.”

His eyes are still on Louis, but they're soft. “He's a somebody.”

It isn't even a question.

“Yeah,” Louis says, breathing in and out softly as he throws his head back to stare at the clouds. “More than that, even, he's my best mate.”

“Who you've fucked,” Niall reminds him. “Best friends with _benefits_.” That makes Louis' stomach acid almost lurch through his throat. He hates this. “Does that settle well with you? You look ill, man.”

“Nah, but that's why I've been avoiding hanging out with him for days,” he mumbles, turning to stare at Niall with his head on his own shoulder. “I think I want him to be my boyfriend, but yet I _don't_.”

“You don't—”

“I don't _know_ ,” Louis whines out, huffing, but it's directed at the situation and not at Niall.

“So,” Niall begins, thinking hard. “Does this mean you have feelings for him, Lou?”

That takes Louis back, making him gulp down the nonexistant spit that he wishes was building up in his mouth, because all of a sudden his tongue and gums and teeth feel _so dry._

“I—” he begins, slouching back when he sees Niall's honest, gentle eyes looking directly at him, like he has no reason to lie, and yeah, he really does have no reason to lie to the boy. “Fuck, _yes_ , Ni. All the time, I want to kiss him _all the time._ ” Niall just smiles, willing him to continue. “And I want to hold his fingers in my hand, kiss his nose and his forehead and his _lips_ —cause have you _seen_ them?”

“Yes,” Niall says, amused despite the sincerity radiating from his entire being. “I have seen them, Lou.”

“I want them wrapped around my dick,” he mutters, eyes dazed as he looks ahead of them, staring at the crowd of girls and boys chattering around them. “But I also want to suck on them, and—like, I want to leave him with lovebites all over his neck so everybody knows he's _mine_.”

“But he _isn't_ yours.”

“Exactly! Not _yet_ ,” Louis exclaims, and Niall thinks he is way too excited over this. 

“I thought you didn't know if you wanted him to be your boyfriend.”

“Shut up, Niall, let me _finish babbling_ —”

“—okay, okay.”

“Thank you,” he says, nodding in sudden satisfaction, before he sighs and ignores the abrupt sinking feeling in his heart that he's been trying to ignore the whole morning. “I want to ask him out on a date. Take him to the park. Have a proper picnic with him and feed him watermelon.”

“Watermelon? _Fucking watermelon?_ ”

Louis scowls, then swats his hand. at Niall like a cat “What, you have an issue with watermelon, mate?”

“No,” Niall says, smiling delightedly. He starts snickering. “Figured you would choose the most phallic shaped fruit. Like a banana.”

“I love bananas.”

Niall begins cackling. “So does _Harry_.”

Louis chooses to ignore that.

“You know,” Louis says, eyes slowly looking at Niall as he smirks, lips upturning like he's a mischevious imp on a mission to get a jewel or something. Something Indiana Jones-y. “I won that bet we made.”

Niall has randomly gotten some goldfish crackers out and is now munching on them like he hasn't eaten in four years. “Wha' bet?” he asks, chewing and talking around the food in his mouth.

Crinkling his nose, Louis feels a twinge of disgust. He chooses to let Niall off this time, though, instead opting to answer the boy's question.

“The one you made with me when you gave me a fucking vibrator.” Niall is just looking at him as if Louis is dumb. “Of _all things_. You got a _vibrator_.”

“Oh,” the other boy muses.

“And you told me I wouldn't be able to use it on someone.”

Niall chews some more. Pops another goldfish cracker in his mouth.

“Well I _did_ ,” Louis sighs, giving up all hope about clueing Niall in on what he means. “And that means you were wrong. I am _very_ capable of getting laid.”

“Well,” the blonde boy says, “I'm just surprised you're the one who didn't cave in and ask for it up _your_ arse.”

Louis gasps dramatically, hand over his heart. Because, of course, leave it up to Niall to make another joke. Damn Irishmen at it again. Wrecking people's hearts and stabbing their backs.

“My bum may be nice, but neither my mouth or my arse beg to bottom.”

“Mmmm _hmm_ ,” Niall says, twitching, lips following suit. Louis thinks this means he is itching to laugh. Which is totally unacceptable, for godsakes. Niall is a rubbish friend.

“I hate your entire existence.”

Louis' just left watching the other boy fall over in loud bubbles of laughter, cackling like a witch's cauldron on Halloween.

_Oh my god—Harry would look sexy in a witch costume._

“I'm sorry, man, couldn't help meself,” Niall says, still cackling, and Louis feels himself blink slowly in secondhand embarrassment and pain for his friend. Everyone is looking at him, but Niall doesn't seem to care any less.

Louis finds himself closing his eyes briefly, before swiping his hair from his eyes. “Would you just _help me?_ ” he asks, almost whining, but it isn't like he would admit to that.

 _Ever_.

Niall wipes away the tears from his eyes, glistening down his cheeks—that's how hard he was laughing, _that fucking hard_ —and looks at Louis with—fondness? Amusement and fondness. Why does he have to find this situation amusing? Louis narrows his eyes exasperatedly.

“Always here to help you, Lou, but you never asked me to until now,” Niall is saying, picking up the goldfish that had fallen from his lap to the grass. An ant lays on one of them, and Louis swears it's trying to haul the cracker away for real, but Niall throws it across the courtyard, absolutely oblivious to how he just threw the insect into the air with its dinner. “But if you ask me, I would tell him how you're feeling. If you two almost fucked, like gone the whole way, then there's a pretty good chance he fancies you back.”

“Yeah?” Louis whispers, blue eyes closing as he breathes through his nose with deep inhales and exhales.

“C'mon, now, he's at least attracted to you.” Louis says nothing. “Physically, sexually, _whatever_. He wouldn't have shagged you in any way, shape or form if he didn't feel something,” Niall finishes, waving his hand dismissively.

And that's all it takes. Jumping up with courage— _determination_ —Louis brushes the grass off of his knees and shoes and breathes. Just _breathes_. Everything suddenly feels right, calm, as the leaves on the trees blow in the little bit of breeze amongst them, and the grass sways toward the wind and the clouds behind them. The flowers seem to be glowing with sunshine, now, too, and the world seems bright and full of potential and hope.

 _Harry_. He needs to talk to the boy, like, right now, so he voices his thoughts. “You're right, completely nutters, but absolutely right.”

Niall leans back on his arms, tilting his head arrogantly. “When am I not?”

Louis doesn't know which part of what he'd said Niall is now referring to, but he snorts, making Niall laugh deep in his throat.

Niall is lovely, really.

And he is ready. Ready, ready, ready.

“I'm going to go find him and tell him, Ni,” he says, excitement fumbling around with nerves inside his tummy. “You're right,” he repeats.

Grinning, Niall slaps his bum harshly, almost earning a yelp out of the boy before he stops himself from making a single sound.

“Atta boy. Awesome. Brilliant. Now, go.”

Louis grins back when they meet eyes, blue to blue, and Louis truly loves Niall. With all his heart and soul and life, no matter how completely mad and ridiculous the blonde one in front of him is.

“Thanks, mate,” he calls, shoving Niall's shoulder affectionately, before he's jogging away backwards. “You're fantastic. See you in Chem?”

“If I go,” Niall snickers, waving at him, which signals Louis to turn around and run a little faster, a smile playing at his lips as if it wants to take over Louis' features. Louis lets it. “Cheers!”

“Cheers,” he shouts back, heading directly for the fountain in the front of the school.

The place Harry should be, reading a book, or catching up on homework, or playing stupid games on his phone to pass the time since he's alone and Louis had completely ran out of class before the younger boy could even catch up with him, or find out where Louis was going.

_Prick, he is. An absolute prick._

His feet keep carrying him to the place he needs to be, anyway.

 

 

 

He finds Harry about three or five minutes later, sitting on the bench with his books open and headphones in his ears. His pencil is moving, writing furiously fast, and there's a deep frown almost painted on his face.

He looks disappointed, but more than anything else, he looks pissed off. It almost— _almost_ —makes Louis turn around again and bolt into the front doors before Harry can so much as _spot_ him.

He deserves to be mad at, though, because he hasn't been acting like Harry's best friend. No best mate leaves the other hanging, unlimited amount of texts unanswered and longing, desperate, pleading looks going seemingly ignored. (Louis liked to look at the other boy through the corner of his eyes, rather than let Harry see him. It settled his fears in more ways than one, is all.) Which is why he really needs to make things right again.

He wishes he could just cuddle the boy into oblivion and then kiss him until Harry is giggling against his lips, happy, happy and happy.

Instead of doing this, Louis decides that he'd rather just tap the younger boy on the shoulder so that he won't get his eyes clawed out. When Harry feels the touch against his sweater, his eyes slightly widen, and he looks up. Unsurprisingly, the second he sees that it's Louis, the hand that was reaching up to take his earbud out suddenly stills and drops to his side as he averts his gaze with a scowl.

Louis' heart sort of, really badly drops.

He delicately, hesitantly reaches over to take the bud out of Harry's ear, watches as Harry gulps and opens his mouth to say something but his words seem to get caught in his throat.

“I just want to talk to you, Haz,” he says, soft and gentle, but it doesn't erase the cold look off of Harry's face.

“You've been ignoring me,” he says, monotonous, “ _once again._ ”

“About that,” Louis says, eyes searching Harry's for something warm, but he barely finds anything. “I'm sorry. I've just been scared—that's, like, that's why I've been running off and all that.”

“You read all of my texts but never responded, _and_ , how can anybody forget this part, you bloody turned your phone off, too. Never even spared me a single glance during Art, or maths, or fucking gym,” Harry says, voice hard, calling Louis out like the ice in his words has barely an effect on the other boy. Louis deserves it.

_You deserve this, you did everything wrong but everything right to make this situation be blown out of proportion. You reacted stupidly. You hurt Harry. You deserve to lose your best friend because of your aching mistakes no matter how much this pains you._

He almost laughs, almost lets out a choked up chortle. It comes out as a weird noise that has Harry taking out his other earbud to properly hear Louis, noticing that there are tears building waterfalls in Louis' eyes at that exact moment. And Harry shouldn't be giving him sympathy, shouldn't be showing Louis anything but awful words and mean looks, so when Harry closes his eyes and then reopens them to look at the older boy, wrapping his arm around Louis' neck while he tries refraining himself from bawling right then and there, it sends surprised, electric and pulsing shocks down his spine.

“Fuckin'—” Harry says, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted and his sweaty hands are holding Louis' neck as he presses the boy's head into his neck. “What the _fuck_ , Louis.”

Louis chokes on a sob, finally letting loose. His body trembles, shaking with nervousness, while Harry leans his head on Louis'.

“Louis, why are you crying?” He recieves no response, so he breathes in and out, heavily contemplating what in the world he's doing right now—what is even happening right now, too. “If it's what I've said to you, there's absolutely nothing that I will take back. I'm allowed to be upset with you when you've left me in the dark ever since that night.”

Ever since that night.

“I know,” Louis mumbles, voice broken as it cracks. His eyes are dripping tears onto his shirt, the one that he's currently using to wipe his runny nose. “No, I _know_ that, and I don't expect you to say you're sorry. _I_ came here to do the apologizing.”

Harry's jaw seems to tense against Louis' hair, before it loosens and he's whispering out a simple, “Go on, then.”

Breathing as slowly as he can, in case of his heart giving out, or a panic attack approaching, Louis grabs Harry's hand and grips onto it with force. The younger boy doesn't move, leaving his fingers splayed out while Louis tries to clasp onto them.

Well, okay, yeah, that's… _fine_ , he guesses.

But. Not really. Not _at all._

“I'm really, really, _really_ sorry, Harry. The night I slept over was better than I could have ever pictured, it was amazing and spending it with _you_ was the best part,” he whispers, softly, and Harry leans in a bit more so he can hear better. Louis feels it. _Harry is listening_. “It made me realize a lot of things, you know, like that I want to kiss you, that I want to touch you and hold you and make you feel so good. So happy. All of the time.” Harry is still not moving, but his fingers tense up, the tips slightly curling over Louis', and Louis thinks he might feel his heart jump in giddiness and hope. The tears in his eyes are still there, and his nose keeps running so he keeps on sniffing softly, but that doesn't deter him from doing what he came here to do. “Those thoughts, they've always scared me. Made me question what I was doing, thinking. Nothing, nobody, is capable of being _so damn beautiful_ except _you_. So, I ran away.”

And, then it's there. The warmth of Harry's clammy hands on his, gripping onto Louis' hand as if he needs support in case he falls back into the water without a lifeboat. Louis chokes on his tears. _He keeps choking,_ oh my _god_.

“I want you so bad. _So bad._ Everything, _everything_ , that you stand for makes the angels sing.” Harry's smile is pressed into Louis' hair, fingertips tracing Louis' palm. Louis doesn't want to speak anymore, just wants to sit here and breathe Harry in like a drug, but he can't stop the words coming from his mouth. “It took Niall telling me that there's a high chance you'll want me back to come find you. I mean, I realized I had feelings for you beforehand, but Niall helped me realize that they're not only pointless feelings that will pass. These—” he laughs, but it's almost devoid of any happiness, “feelings, they have _always_ been here. Existing within me. Everything you do lives inside of me. My body. My _soul_ , H.”

“You're full of cheese,” Harry mutters, lips pressing little kisses to Louis' forehead when Louis tries to look up at him. Wants to see green, pretty eyes. Wants to feel Harry looking at him.

“ _No_ ,” he says, squeezing Harry's hand before he takes his other one and uses his thumb to tilt Harry's head toward him, moving their heads apart. Harry's arm is wrapped around the other boy's waist, still, practically kneading the flesh and pudge there. The pudge that Harry knows Louis is insecure about, but has always cherished. “Full of love.”

Harry hums, twisting his body to face Louis. Louis can hear him breathing.“I'm still mad at you, you know,” he says, tone unreadable.

Louis tries to pretend that those words don't stab into his heart, he really does, but it must show on his face because the younger boy is already leaning in to whisper in Louis' ear, hands now playing with his hair delicately as if Louis happens to be a porcelain doll capable of being broken by the slightest knock.

“ _But_ ,” he breathes out, pulling Louis' head down enough so that there lips are inches apart. “I love you too.”

“I'm _sorry_ , Harry—” Louis tries to get out, heart pounding in his chest, ready to leap out of its barrier, but Harry cuts him off.

“ _So much._ ”

“I love you, I absolutely love you. I am _so sorry_ , I promise I'm never doing this again—”

“Please shut up,” Harry mumbles, lips almost touching Louis', and Louis thinks his brain might be short-circuiting. Louis keeps spewing out little, i'm sorry's, but Harry won't have it. “ _Shut up, shut up,_ darling,” he soothes, despite the harshness of his words. “And let me kiss you. I can't stop myself from kissing you. _Need it._ ”

Louis nods, bobbing his head with something akin to passion. “Yes, _yes_.”

“Class is about to start,” Harry says, eyes darting down to their seperated bodies, pulling them closer together before he puts one leg over Louis' thigh and climbs into his lap like last time.

 _Last time._ What got Louis into this whole mess in the first place.

“Bell's about to ring,” Harry continues blabbing, leaning his head over Louis' as said boy looks up at him, looks at his lips with hunger and want and need.

“Let's skip,” Louis tells him, hands coming up to press into Harry's little hips. His thumbs dip into the skin there.

“Was already going to.”

Louis feels like he can't breathe. “Yeah?” he croaks.

Chocolate curls fall onto Harry's forehead, and he runs a hand through his hair, before he's nodding enthusiastically.

“Yeah,” he whispers, sounding almost as breathless as Louis. “Can't go to class if I'm going to be riding you, can we?”

He groans. He can't help it, really, as he clenches the material against Harry's hips in his fingers. Harry isn't moving, but he can hear the boy breathing harshly, panting and almost _desperate_. 

“Here?” he asks, widening his eyes, but Harry just smiles a bit, wraps his arms around Louis' neck and whispers right against his lips, “fuck _yes_.”

The bell rings then, and students start to pile together to head inside through the side of the school. No one really comes to the front, except for the odd boy or girl, and even then Harry and Louis practically exist as ghosts. _No one looks at them._

“No one's looking at us,” Harry says, lips finding Louis' as he breathes through his nose heatedly, whining against the older boy's mouth. 

Their lips are sliding together, Louis' hands twitching at Harry's sides while Harry stuffs his hands full with Louis' hair, and then their tongues are wrapping around each other's with absolutely no hesitation. Tilting his head, Harry slots their lips together again wetly, moaning ridiculously loud into Louis' mouth, which sends heat all the way down Louis' torso. Everything feels right. Harry tastes like sugar—apple cinnamon—and icing sugar and all things that taste tart, yet with a hint of mint clinging to his tongue. Their teeth accidentally clack, but Louis makes up for it by sucking Harry's tongue, kneading the boy's bum through his jeans. _Tight, tight fucking jeans_. That elicits a raspy, desperate moan out of Harry's throat, his hips starting to rock a bit against Louis' body. He can't breathe, Louis can't breathe, and it isn't because of the heated kissing, either. 

Harry suddenly bites Louis' lip, teeth grazing it just the right way, and Louis can't help but whimper. He feels Harry start to grin, licking into his mouth with warmth and control—which is new, holy _fuck_ —until their tongues slide against one another again and their moans mingle together. 

Their hands somehow find each other in the midst of their snogging, tangling together weakly, tenderly, and then Harry presses his chest against Louis' chest, his hard nipples rubbing against both of their shirts. Harry can't, _can't_ , so he lets out another filthy fucking moan and moves his hand to go under his shirt and play with his right nipple, still brushing their bodies against each other. 

Everything feels—it feels electrified. The more he touches Harry, the more he craves skin to skin contact and that's. That's impossible, out here. 

Harry pulls back, lips looking flushed and red and swollen, just so he can bite his lip. He leans down to Louis' neck and sucks. He sucks _hard_. The older boy's hand fists at Harry's shirt, feeling him hum against Louis' neck with an odd sense of satisfaction, before letting his teeth graze the sensitive skin there. 

And Louis whines. His entire being _whines—_ hewhimpers and almost thrashes, too, when Harry stops what he's doing to look back and admire the bruise he's made on his baby's neck. It's dark, and it contrasts against the tan skin it's painted onto, and that's why Harry can't help himself from smirking. 

“Everyone is going to see that,” Louis croaks. 

“Mmm,” Harry groans, rubbing their crotches together, feeling both of their cocks already hardening just from kissing and those little touches and tickles. “Good. Fucking _good_.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis squeaks, eyes falling shut as their clothed cocks keep brushing against each other. It makes Louis' head fuzzy, makes him dizzy but yet so, so aware of how good this feels. 

“I'm gonna—” Harry says, stopping, breathless and green eyes blown, “gonna take off my pants now. Need you to finger me open, yeah?” Louis nods. “Finger me open for your cock, Lou, make me feel so _fucking_ good.”

“Yes,” Louis practically hisses, his fingers itching to just get inside of Harry already. 

“Are you gonna make me feel good? Le'me bounce on your cock like a good little boy?” Harry babbles, breath hitching uncontrollably as he speaks his words slowly, rotating his hips for effect. “'M your princess, right, Lou?”

“God, yeah, always my princess,” he moans quietly, slapping Harry's arse and making Harry bite his lip to hide a mewl begging to escape the barrier of his lips. 

“Always,” Harry agrees, still biting his lip and letting his teeth graze the skin as he shuffles out of his jeans. Although with a struggle, and Louis fights a fond smile when he almost tumbles over. Harry stops him before he can say anything. “'M fine, 'm fine, darling.”

“Okay.”

They stare into each other's eyes, trailing down to look at one another's swollen lips, and right as they both begin to smile, Louis looks down. 

And Harry's in fucking _panties_. They're sitting on a stone bench, doing filthy things, and now Harry, of course, is wearing panties. Pretty mint green, satin panties that are covered in lace on the sides, and Louis abruptly remembers that this boy is back to sitting in Louis' lap. He wants to see the boy's bum, the curve of it and the dip of the material outlining his skin, right before it ends and turns into milky, porcelain thighs, but knows that it's too risky— _they really shouldn't even be doing this, in the first place, honestly_ —so he just leans up to kiss Harry again chastely. 

Instead, though, Harry's lips glide against Louis' forcefully enough that it weakens him, absolutely weakens him, and then he's giving into the feeling of Harry's tongue caressing every inch of his mouth. His teeth, his tongue, his cheeks. Harry is completely devouring him, and he's still the best kisser Louis has ever met. Ever had the pleasure of snogging. 

Right in front of their school, while they skip their class together, and god, Louis wouldn't change a damn thing about this circumstance if he had the chance to. 

“Suck on my fingers,” Louis says, voice wrecked, and he's only been _snogging_ Harry. The boy nods, eyes wide as he takes Louis' fingers into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and licking them up and down as if he were sucking cock, and if that doesn't make Louis hard, he has no idea what has, because his cock is twitching and aching against his pants. The friction of the burn shoots pleasureful pain up his lower torso, though, and he _loves_ it. Almost as much as he loves the way Harry's lips are wrapped around his fingers, plump and pink and wet. 

Reluctantly pulling them out of Harry's mouth, they come out with a pop and Harry decides it's the right time to squeeze his thighs together and whimper. 

“Need you,” he whines, eyes looking at Louis innocently and dopily wide, “need your fingers to fuck me open and hit my sweet spot so bad.”

“I'm gonna,” Louis mumbles, lips pressed to Harry's skin below his jaw, sucking there while Harry's mouth falls open and his pretty plump lips part—and the control is within Louis' hands now, he can _feel_ it as Harry's mewls turn into high pitched beggings of, _please, please fuck me, 've wanted to feel your cock inside of me for so long, Lou._ “—take such good care of you. My little baby boy, wearing panties for me, aren't you?”

Harry nods so fast, it almost hurts Louis' neck, cramps it up. “Wore them this week hoping you'd find me and pin me against the wall before fucking me,” he whispers, still tingling from the feeling of Louis' lips below his jaw. Louis' teeth graze the skin, causing a growl to form in his throat and a breathy pant to come out of Harry's throat like he's really struggling to breathe or even speak. “ _Fuck_ , you 'ave no idea how many times 've thought about you pounding into my arse while you held my head against the wall. 'M so tight, Lou, never been fucked before, only ever fucked myself with my fingers.”

Harry keeps on talking, letting his breaths come out in tiny _ah's_ that Louis is really having a hard time ignoring, and he thinks he's had enough. He slides his fingers under the material of the boy's panties, feeling his soft, soft skin against his fingertips, and then he's pulling them to the side. The cool air hitting Harry's skin, his little hole, makes him gasp a bit. 

“Alright, baby?”

“Mmm, yeah, 's okay, 'm okay.”

Taking that as an initiative, Louis rubs at the rim of Harry's hole, loves listening to the sounds of Harry mewling, and then pushes it in slowly, letting the boy adjust to the stretch. Harry just breathes through his nose, letting his head fall into Louis' neck. His curls tickle Louis' skin, and he almost smiles at how happy this boy makes him. 

“ _More_ , Lou, just enough to open me up,” Harry whines, shoving his body back down on Louis' finger with determination. The boy's mouth flutters open, lips parting and then he's looking directly into Louis' eyes as he adds another finger to Harry's pretty hole. 

“Be patient, sweetheart,” he speaks softly, smiling at the way Harry's cheeks turn pink, he bites his lip and looks away with his mouth falling open again shortly after. Harry loves petnames, and Louis has a hard time believing that this soft, innocent boy is fucking himself down onto Louis' fingers like this in public. “My baby boy is being such a slut, craving and wanting cock over education,” he teases, pumping his two fingers in and out of Harry as fast as he can. Harry's breaths are coming out hard, hushed and heavy, hitching like Louis' hitting his sweet spot, and—

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , oh my god, there, please, right there,” Harry babbles, voice so loud he's practically screaming into the quiet sky. 

“Shhh, baby boy, can't let anyone know we're doing this or you won't be able to ride my cock, yeah?”

He doesn't miss the way Harry's eyes barely flutter closed at his words, pupils blown and green eyes black with want—with a deep, desired need. 

“Yeah, okay, Lou. 'M sorry,” he says, “'M sorry, 'm sorry.”

But Louis just shuts him up with his lips pressing against Harry's. 

Their lips together are wet, messy and sloppy, but the feeling that they get running down their bodies when their tongues battle each other is enough to make them both whimper into each other's mouths.

Desperation. They are both feeling just that.  

Louis adds a third finger, relishing in the way that Harry almost slams his hips down on the older boy's fingers with such fucking _need_ , and fucks the digits in and out of Harry's hole. The stretch feels so good, absolutely amazing, and by the time Louis adds a fourth finger and pumps his fingers fast, directly hitting Harry's prostate, Louis pulls his fingers out. 

Before Harry can open his swollen lips and whine—Louis can see it in his eyes, and even they are wrecked, looking at Louis with lidded eyes and dilated pupils—Louis is leaving a small, little kiss on the corner of the younger boy's mouth. 

“C'mere, okay?” he asks, unzipping his trousers so that he can pull his briefs down a bit and pull out his cock. 

Harry doesn't say anything, just responding through his eager actions, groaning when he sees Louis' cock glistening with precum along the head. He squeezes his thighs together again, loving the feeling of his cock pressing against his panties, wetting them with his own precum. The head of Harry's cock peeks out from the material and bobs against his lower tummy, and it takes everything in Louis not to lean down and mouth over it through the panties until they're soaking wet with his spit. He wants to make Harry fucking _shake_. 

Harry grabs hold of Louis' cock just then, looking into Louis' eyes as he mumbles against his navel, “No lube, so 'm goin' to suck you off.”

Louis' hands find their way to Harry's hair just then, the logic and senses about the possibility of them getting caught being very, very high, they're all thrown out the window by now. 

“I hope someone sees me sucking your cock and _loves_ it,” Harry giggles, eyes dark— _lustful_ —before he sucks on the head of Louis' cock like a popsicle, tonguing the slit and moving Louis' precum around with the tip of his tongue. 

He hollows his cheeks, holding the base of the older boy's cock in his hand, before he bobs his head up and down, the flat side of his tongue running over the bottom of Louis' cock, and the faster Harry bobs his head, the more incoherent Louis gets. 

“Jesus _christ_ ,” Louis groans, hand pulling Harry's hair, only making the boy moan around his cock. It sends these vibrations and warm, wetness up his cock and into his lower abdomen, and Harry just keeps bobbing his head with his lips wrapped obscenely around Louis, gazing into his eyes with such innocence.

Fake. Faux innocence. Nothing about Harry's tongue, his lips, his mouth, is _innocent_. 

Suckling on the tip, Harry's mouth pops off and then his tongue—oh, god, his tongue starts to circle Louis' cock head, occasionally kissing it with his pretty, plump lips before taking Louis' cock all the way down his throat. It looks so easy, is the thing, the way Harry's throat muscles contract and move against Louis' cock, and when Louis fucks into his mouth, he just takes it like a champ. 

“Such a good little boy, Harry,” Louis praises, hips stuttering as Harry licks up and down his twitching cock and sucks on it fast and hard, moaning and whimpering around it while his own thighs squeeze together. “What a cockslut, you are,” he growls, voice raspy, and he wonders what Harry's voice will sound like after he stops getting throat fucked by Louis. “Fucking _whore_ , taking my cock like you've never had anything better between your lips, _in_ _your_ _mouth_.” 

Harry chokes a bit, almost spluttering around Louis' cock, but then he's closing his eyes and letting the tears fall from his eyes. He takes Louis to the back of his throat before sliding off, looking up at Louis, like he's expecting something special. As if it's Christmas Day and he's waiting for the best gift he'll ever receive. 

Harry climbs into Louis' lap, right then, looking back at the material of his panties brushing against Louis' cock. He bites his lip, eyes still watering, throat still sore and fucked out, and then he moves the material to the side and slowly presses the head of Louis' cock to his rim. Louis breathes in through clenched teeth, making a hissing sound that has Harry looking at him with slight worry, but then Louis turns Harry's face to him. 

“Feels good,” he croaks out, making Harry twitch, almost ready to move, but he bites his lip instead, “come on, sink down on my cock, baby, c'mon, you're doing so, so good.”

And after what feels like an hour, Harry does just that, gasping at the stretch of Louis inside of him, catching his breath finally when he bottoms out. Louis' hands are on his hips, waiting for the younger, much smaller boy to start moving, and then Harry whips his head to look at Louis with so much love. 

So much _love_ , but _so much lust, too._

“Ready?” Louis asks, hesitantly. He's trying so hard not to fuck up into Harry and pound his hole like he's never, ever—literally—been fucked before. Harry nods, bottom lip rolled into his mouth and caught between his teeth. “Go on, then, beautiful.”

Harry mewls at that, leaning forward to kiss Louis with such softness that it has the older boy's head fuzzy again, spinning, as he lifts himself up and slams his body back down. The boy's arse is burning, so fucking badly, but he's _so full_ that it has him panting into Louis' mouth desperately. 

The skin to skin contact makes everything sound louder, so Louis slows Harry down a bit as he works himself up and down on Louis' cock, helping him by thrusting his hips upward. He hits Harry's sweet spot, he knows it, because by the third thrust, Harry is falling forward into Louis' neck while he bounces on his cock like a little, breathless, gorgeous slut, and biting his neck— _hard_. It feels impossible, how good it feels, and Harry can't stop his mouth from falling open while he's still got it pressed to Louis' skin. Instead of moving, he moans _against_ Louis' neck, into nape of it, and it muffles the loud moans a bit that it stops Louis from moving him back. 

Electric. Body electric, that's all that Louis can feel, and judging by the little, _ah_ , _ah_ , _oh_ , fu- _ck_ coming from the smaller boy, Harry feels something pretty similar, too. Their pulses are united, their heartbeats, their skin, and their bones. Louis has never felt this connected, never felt this much love for somebody. He's never wanted somebody _so_ _fucking_ _badly_. 

Except for _Harry_. _Only_ Harry. 

“ _Shiiiiit_ , Lo _u_ , baby,” Harry says, clawing at Louis' chest underneath his shirt to keep himself up, with such force that it leaves red marks and scratches all over his skin, but Louis couldn't care in the slightest. 

“Keep working yourself up like that, mmhm, you're such a little porn star,” Louis coos, brushing some of the fallen pieces of hair away from Harry's eyes and forehead, breath hitching when he watches as Harry takes _absolute_ _pleasure_ just bouncing on Louis' cock. How he _preens_ at every compliment Louis sends his way. 

“Your _own_ little porn star, Lou,” Harry gasps, hips still making figure eights before he slams his hips down onto Louis' cock. “'N your little porn star's gonna cum,” he whimpers, hand reaching out to pull at his cock, to wet his hand with some spit and fuck up into his fist, but Louis stops him by grabbing his wrist and holding it tightly. 

“No,” he growls, and loves the way Harry groans long and loud at that, “you're going to cum from my cock.”

Louis' hips thrust again and again, hitting the boy's prostate each time, and Harry keeps on fucking himself on Louis' cock as if his life depends on it so much. But then Harry's body is stopping, Louis' cock still pounding into him from Louis' little hip jerks and rotations, and the smaller boy is mewling, scratching at Louis' chest again, playing with Louis' nipples, and then Harry is cumming. Hot, white streaks of cum hit Louis' shirt, and fuck, that's definitely going to stain, but the way Harry's lips flutter open, his hips and thighs and legs stutter and quiver and his hole clenches around Louis' cock makes up for it. Really, really makes up for it, and Louis wants to take a picture of Harry's face when he cums from now on, so he can wank to it whenever him and Harry aren't around each other, that's how _hot_ it is. 

Louis lifts Harry off of his cock, however, liking Harry's weak sigh of protest, before he tells Harry to get on the ground.

“Want me to cum on your face, princess?” Louis whispers, right against the shell of Harry's ear, before Harry ducks down and gets on the ground, on his knees for Louis. All for _Louis_. 

“On my tongue,” Harry innocently says, eyes blinking up at him sleepily, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out flat. 

Louis can't help but whimper at that, as he tugs on his cock with a fast hand, flicking his wrist over the head and thumbing the slit like he's in a hurry, and technically he is, and then Louis' cumming all over Harry's lips, tongue and some even landed on his nose.

Smiling dopily and oh so very sweetly, Harry lets out a small snicker that sounds like a choked giggle—and if that isn't the cutest thing _ever_ —the boy licks his lips clean and swallows the cum with eagerness, using his finger to swipe up the cum left on his nose before he pops that in his mouth and sucks. 

“You,” Louis breathes, “Harry Styles, are going to be the death of me.”

“Louis Tomlinson: Dead at 18 After Fucking Harry Styles. Seems legit,” Harry says, eyes teasing, as he leans in to bite Louis' lip, and then he's kissing him softly. 

“We should clean up?” Harry suggests, looking around the room nervously, and it makes Louis snort. Harry hits his chest anyway, which sort of hurts because of those dang claws of Harry's, but it's  _Harry_  who did it, so he can let it go this time.

(And next time. And the next time after that. And forever.) 

“Yeah, probably should.”

Harry is left stumbling into his jeans, hopping a bit into his pant legs, while Louis pulls up his briefs and zips up his trousers in a flash. The older boy gets up to help the curly headed boy, whose eyebrows are furrowed and lips are pouting more than normal, but then Harry pops his bum into the jeans and does the zipper up with little—or, rather, a lot of—struggle. 

Harry winces. “My bum. It hurts,” he complains, jutting out his bottom lip. “We are never having sex again.”

Louis just chortles, trying to be as quiet as he possibly can, but undeniably failing. 

“I'm _sure_ , sweetheart, I'm _sure_ ,” he says, tone light and full of mischief. 

“Let's head to the loo,” Harry grins, ignoring Louis' comment—because Louis _knows_ that this will not be their _last_ _time_ , thank you very much—heading back over to Louis to grab the older boy's hand. Their skin feels sweaty, but so, so soft against one another, and Harry's cheeks seem to flush, and his stance stutters shyly when Louis looks over at him. 

“Okay, gotta clean meself off anyway and change my shirt, because someone came all over this band tee,” Louis teases, mocking a displeased tone as he pulls at his shirt disgustedly. 

“You should wipe it off before we go in?” Harry suggests, swallowing a little. Louis just squeezes his hand, sensing the nervousness building up inside of the other boy. 

“Nah, class is in, we can just dash to the loo and clean up,” he smiles, brushing his thumb against Harry's warm cheek. Said boy leans into the touch and, yeah—he's a kitten. 

 

 

 

The two boys do just that: they walk into the school, run to the washroom whilst snickering and giggling against each other's lips, kissing each other up against a stall door hungrily as they almost fall onto the toilet behind them (Harry's bum might get a little wet, and Louis might kind of think that's hilarious) before they hear the intercom turn on. It sounds like it's full of static, and nobody speaks through it for a whole fifteen seconds. Harry just keeps kissing Louis, smiling against his lips and holding onto Louis' pert, round bum like he can't seem to let go, and then they hear something. 

_“Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, please report to the office. Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, please report to the office right now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops. 
> 
> hope this was quality content omg

**Author's Note:**

> might make this into a two parter ??
> 
> feel free to show this fic to others and let me know if you'd like a series out of this!


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